


somnophilia

by PikaCheeka



Category: DRAMAtical Murder (Visual Novel)
Genre: Drugs, M/M, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 19:04:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13864062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PikaCheeka/pseuds/PikaCheeka
Summary: An impulsive decision to rewire their Allmates allows Trip unexpected access to Virus' mind and body.He likes it when Virus can't fight back.





	somnophilia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LostFairyMantic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostFairyMantic/gifts).



> For Lostfairymantic, who requested a somnophilia fic! I've wanted to write a scenario like this for some time so I'm glad I got the request as added motivation. It's such a ViTri theme....

Trip shifts against him and Virus sighs. He's sprawled across the couch, one leg hooked over the arm and his cheek pressed into Virus' shoulder, his hand resting on his thigh, tapping him over and over. He's acting the same. The same as he did when he was six, nine, twelve. Like their two years apart never happened and they are the same people they were the last time a door closed between them. He knows this irritates Virus, and it's hardly a surprise when the older man finally reacts with a sharp elbow.

"You can't do this kind of thing anymore."

"What dya mean?" He knows exactly what he means though.

He hesitates a few seconds, just long enough for Trip to know he's weighing his words. He won't lie, but he might be vague enough so as to conceal the truth. "You're getting heavy. You're not six anymore; you don't fit in my lap."

"Mm. I'm not in your lap." He stops tapping his thigh and squeezes it. There’s no give to speak of, probably because Virus could outrun him on his worst day. "Want me to be?"

He places his hand over Trip's and calmly pries his fingers away. "Maybe when you've had some experience."

Trip shrugs and leans harder against him for a few seconds before sitting upright. He can smell the faint scent of the dryer sheets Virus prefers, his favorite shampoo, the acrylic of his clear nail polish, the hint of sweat. All scents most others wouldn't recognize beneath his cologne. "What if we swapped Allmate chips?"

Virus almost spits his drink out. "What? Where'd that come from?"

He ignores the second question. "If we swapped. Could we see through each other's eyes then?"

"Huh. I doubt it, not with the way we have them programmed. I guess we'd just be able to monitor one another's vital signs." He's staring at the wall, thinking now. Intrigued.

Trip bites his lower lip and rolls his jaw, unsure if he should goad him on or if he should wait. He raises his eyes and glances up at the older man again, at the curve of his jaw and his carefully groomed eyebrows.

And then Virus, never able to resist an experiment, says exactly what he'd hoped he would say. "Let's try it."

-

Virus is playing with his laptop, his Coil, even more so than usual, as he's been doing regularly since this began, unable to tear his eyes away from the graphs and charts. "Mmm, this is interesting. You have low blood pressure, not enough for hypotension but a bit lower than average. I don't think I knew that."

"Really." Trip grunts, noncommittal. He isn't sure if he himself knew about that. "Don't you know a lot of my medical stuff already?"

"I looked at your papers back then, sure. This is more fun." And then Virus is behind him, a soft breath on his shoulder. "I can tell when you jerk off now."

That makes Trip jolt upright, drop the video game controller and turn around. Virus is smirking, corners of his mouth curled up and eyes narrowed. His cute face. His dangerous face. The unintentionally seductive look as he opens his mouth again, pink tongue darting out. "You didn't know we could monitor that level of activity this way? I haven't done it myself since we swapped... I won't be able to hold out much longer though, so you'll see soon."

It takes him a moment to work his jaw. "How will I know?"

"You really are inexperienced, hm?” He goes off then, a thousand clinical words in one endless string of a sentence, unfiltered and incomprehensible to anyone who hadn’t memorized medical texts as a bored nine-year-old.

But Trip isn't listening. If he can monitor Virus' sexual activity, he can monitor a whole lot more. His eating, his sleeping, his anxiety, his excitement... Everything. He hadn't done much with his newfound connections to Virus; it had been a spur-of-the-moment suggestion after all, another way to get closer to him that seemed good at the time. Virus had handled all of it, researched it online, gone to one of their doctors about it. It had required minor surgery, some redirection, reprogramming, but nothing they weren't used to. They hadn't entirely swapped Allmates, only altered them. Trip does not have a full connection to Herscha, but he can monitor Virus' vital signs and whereabouts, as most Allmates can do with their owners. He wonders if he can determine how deep his sleep is, if he can tell how lost he is in unconsciousness. If he can use this to his advantage.  "Can you teach me? That medical stuff? I never paid attention back there..." _Because I only care about it when it's with you._

"You actually want to learn something?"

"Don't act surprised." But he knows it's surprising. He'd been recalcitrant at every turn back at the institute, disinterested in lessons and angry at being expected to do anything. He pulls up his Coil. "Now show me what all this stuff means."

Virus leans forward, and it's all Trip can do to not breathe in his scent, bask in the gentle heat radiating from his closeness. He closes his eyes for a moment and holds his breath. And then Virus begins talking.

It's nearly an hour before he stops, pats Trip's shoulder and whispers, "Keep an eye on it tonight and you'll see what I mean."

-

Trip obeys, and that night he keeps the app up on his coil, curls up against Welter in the darkness of his room and watches Virus' heartrate. He's in the closet, where he often finds himself whenever he knows he's doing something questionable. _It's because you're claustrophobic and you're punishing yourself the way you were punished back at the institute. Or maybe it's because you like that closeness and darkness sometimes, a way to shut off the rest of the world. Mmm, could be either. So many options. You're so interesting._ More than once Virus had crowded into the closet with him, breathing in his air as he psychoanalyzed him. He'd even stroked him once. Only once, the first time he'd found him in the closet, darting his pretty fingers down to Trip's crotch and touching him, rubbing him until he moaned and nervously squeezed his legs together, as he whispered about punishment. _You don't have to follow those rules and patterns any longer. You can do whatever you want now. There's no punishment anymore. No fear of retribution. No repercussions._ He'd known then, that day, for certain. That Virus wanted to fuck him.

Virus. He's doing it now, jerking off. Trip presses his hand to his face, bites at the webbing between his thumb and index finger as he watches his stats start to spike. He wants to touch himself, but he knows Virus will know, knows he will check his own stats, knows he will tease him mercilessly. _You jerked off when I did. That excited you, just the idea of me touching myself._ But it's probably what he wants. Trip drums his feet against the wall of his closet, causing Welter to raise his massive head and glance at him.

He closes his eyes against the spiking numbers and thinks about fucking him, of opening his thighs and pushing into him, or his tightness, his heat, the contractions of his muscles as his body adjusts, accepts. He can only understand so much of his body from these statistics. He needs to see him, hear him, feel him beyond those numbers. He'd go at him hard, alternating between slow and fast, gentle and rough, to throw him off, surprise him, force out startled gasps and cries, gulps and whimpers and moans and tears, make him cling to him, leave scratches down his back as he writhes and arches, responds to his touch. Flip him over and take him a second time from behind. Keep him all night and wake up to kiss and touch his sleeping body - Virus always sleeps longer than him in the mornings, eyelids twitching as he turns away from sound and sunlight. He's jerking off before he can stop himself, and when he licks the come off his fingers, he knows what he must do then, what he finally has the option of doing now.

Experience.

-

Virus has a massive drug stash. More than a stash. A _lab_. He experiments with creating new drugs, replicating ones he finds on the street, but he rarely finishes anything. He's fickle, easily distracted. He hasn't been free much longer than Trip has, but unlike Trip, he inhales his surroundings, taking in anything and everything and reveling in it. The younger boy had never messed with anything in there before. He hadn't dared, too worried about messing something up. But he had always watched Virus. He was not as averse to learning as he pretended.

It takes him over a week to find the exact right drug combination, the one to put Virus out for long enough, put him deep enough to fuck him, but not so long or so deep that he'd be suspicious in the morning. The latter had been hard to get right. Thankfully they were young enough and experimented with enough recreational drugs that waking up disoriented and with a splitting headache was nothing unusual. It was never hard for Trip to set up scenarios the night before that would leave Virus not thinking twice about sleeping until noon, but it still unnerved Trip. If it weren't for being able to check his biostats throughout the night, he'd be too nervous to carry through with any of it.

During those early nights of experimentation, he only touched him, kissed him and stroked him. Undressed him slowly and ran his fingers over the planes of his belly, the soft skin at the base of his neck and the insides of his thighs. Fingered the barely distinguishable mole on right hip and the dimple at the base of his spine. Took his own clothing off and rubbed against him, rolled around in his bed and jerked off right next to his still, sleeping body. It was at once like before and nothing like before. Because back then, when he'd slept next to Virus before, when he'd clung to him throughout the night, he'd been six or seven. Too young to appreciate it the way he can now.

It excites him, knowing Virus is oblivious as he lies there beside him in bed. He finds that he likes him asleep, likes his soft breathing and the way his fingers and eyelids twitch, the warmth of his body. He isn’t used to Virus with his guard down, isn’t used to a Virus that isn’t composed. Because it’s different now than back then when he saw him sleeping. So every night he stays by him, touches him and inhales his scent and licks his neck and stretches out against his body. And every morning he'd act like nothing had happened, though he'd always go back and check Virus' statistics from the night before. He'd assure himself again and again that Virus hadn't noticed, that nothing had changed, that his vital signs continued to indicate deep sleep the entire night.

As he upped the drugs and found the proper dose for that consistent dead sleep, he began groping him, fingering him. He feels good inside. Hot. Wet. Tight.  At once exactly as he'd expected and so much more. The first time he'd pushed a knuckle past the ring of muscle, he'd jerked back immediately, overwhelmed and uncertain, but the hesitancy hadn't lasted. He'd tried a few different lubricants, took some time to settle on which one worked best for them. Felt the best on his skin and inside of Virus. And then he'd waited.

-

He'd been unexpectedly sick the evening he decides to carry through with it. _Nerves_.

Their bathroom has two doors, one from each bedroom. Trip can't remember a time they've ever locked either door. Privacy between them has always been a farce, and Virus, for all his complaining about Trip's inability to knock, is far more likely to invade Trip's space at a moment's notice than vice versa. Virus, who always knows when he's sick, had sat beside him in the bathroom, leaning back against the wall and rubbing his shoulders as Trip shuddered and breathed through his nose as heavily as he could, fighting back the nausea. "Why are you so nervous?"

Trip shrugs. "Jes getting used to it. Being out here." It's believable. He's only been out for a few months, and he still spends a remarkable amount of time avoiding everything, hiding in the apartment, in his room, in his closet, seeking darkness and silence and comfort. Easily overwhelmed. Overactive senses. Low latent inhibition.

Virus digs into one of his cardigan pockets then. "Try one of these."

Pills. It's almost too good to be true. A ready excuse. "What if I already took something?"

"These are light. You can mix them with just about anything. I've experimented with it enough." He presses one into Trip's palm. "You know I try everything out before giving it to you, right? I have a higher drug tolerance."

Trip hadn't known that. Hadn't known either of these things. He wonders if Virus knows something, if there is a threat hidden in those words. Or if it really is just an unexpected kindness. He bites his lip and tries to still the unease building. Another layer of unconsciousness can never be a bad thing, as for all the fingering he did, nothing can compare to the roughness of an actual fuck. He can always palm the pill or shove it up above his molars until he has a chance to spit it out. "Take it with me anyway."

Virus grins and pops two in his mouth.

-

He sleeps naked. They both do when it's this hot. Trip had anticipated this, hoped for this. Not having to get clothes off and on a limp body makes things easier.

Trip keeps his coil on the pillow beside Virus' head, watching his stats. Asleep. Deeply asleep, even as he rolls him over and begins stroking and touching his body. He knows that if Virus were to look at his own biostats, his own breathing and heartrate would be spiking. Anxious, excited. Adrenaline burning through his body. _He's going to fuck him_. Finally. After all this time. He breathes through interlaced fingers as he stares down at Virus. Eyelids flickering as he dreams, lips parted softly.

He knows he shouldn't come in him, knows it will be too difficult to clean, to hard to hide his tracks, but he doesn't want to wear a condom either. He wants to feel him, feel the wet of his insides slick against him. _Just come on him. Pull out in the last few seconds and spill over his flat belly._

As he shoves two lube slicked fingers into his ass, he suddenly realizes how difficult this might be to clean up. _Don't use too much lube_. But he knows he has no choice. He can't risk waking him up, hurting him, making him bleed, leaving him sore in the morning.

Virus whimpers when he enters him, arches his back and curls his fingers. He moans softly. And the noises drive Trip to a frenzy. _He sounds the way I'd always imagined him to, feels the way…_ He fucks him harder. Virus yelps then, a cry in his ear that is not stifled or resisted. He's reacting more than Trip feels comfortable with, and he raises his head to glance at the stats a moment, sweat-soaked hair hanging in his eyes. _He's fine, still fine, still deeply asleep. Maybe dreaming of being fucked._ The thought makes Trip grin.

He's up on his knees then, dragging Virus up to him. Virus who lies limp and scarcely responsive, alive but unaware, helpless. The thought makes Trip burn from the inside out, need and desire overpowering his senses as he gives himself up entirely. He’s on the verge of orgasm before it fully hits him.

It's overwhelming. It's too much, too much, too much.  And Trip is pulling out, rolling off of Virus and stumbling off the bed. He can't do this. He had known all along he couldn't come in him. He'd planned to come on him, on that hard belly and that soft trail of blond hair down his naval. Lick it off his skin when it was over. But he can't. It's too much.

He jerks off in the bathroom, the bathroom that is only a farce of privacy. He jerks off and when he throws the tissues in the toilet, wishes it could have been inside of Virus. But that would be too much. A line he can't cross. Unless he wants Virus to know.

The thought makes him sick. _I shouldn't have done that. He'll kill me if he finds out._

He wipes him off next. Slowly, delicately, a sharp counter to the way he had been fucking him only moments ago. Because Virus might remember nothing in the morning, but not even have anything to remember if the drug cocktail worked, but he will notice his body being filthy in the morning. So Trip folds the washcloth again and runs it a final time over his body, his belly, his thighs, his ass. A second damp cloth to clean his face. He's afraid, because he's crossed a line that shouldn't have been crossed.

And then he feels the remnants of the fire lingering in his groin. No, that fear doesn't matter after all. He lies there for some time, lightly stroking his face, his throat. The neck he has admired silently for so many years. He presses against the length of his body, inhales his scent. He can't comprehend what has just happened.

-

Virus is jittery in the morning.

 _He knows. He knows. He knows_. Trip doesn't dare make eye contact with him as he pours him half a cup of coffee, slides the mug across the table to him. He always starts with a half. _Just act normal. Normal._

"I don't remember drinking that much last night."

Trip gestures towards the sink, the eleven beer cans waiting to be rinsed out for the trash. There weren't that many when he woke up this morning, but setting the scene was not difficult. "Because you got so plastered."

"I checked your data from last night." He says it nonchalantly enough, but Trip's heart jumps into his throat.

"Yea?"

Virus only takes a sip of coffee and reaches for the sugar. No cream. He's been concerned about fat lately, though Trip couldn't fathom why, but sugar was necessary. "I wish I could get off that easily when trashed. Alcohol's a killjoy for me most of the time."

He feels himself relax, his body loosening and stilling. So that's all it was. He can play this, roll with it and prevent his adrenaline from spiking too much. He can't let Virus notice. He's learned how to control himself over the years, exactly because of Virus' presence. Calm and white. "Was watching porn. I was committed, I guess."

Virus laughs. "Not that tentacle hentai again, I hope."

"Naaw. Somethin' better. Wanna see?" He gestures towards his coil on the table. There's enough in there to convince him.

"God, no. I just woke up."

Trip only shrugs. Maybe he'll take a video next time, something he can jerk off to whenever he wants. He remembers the little noises Virus made and bites his lip, buries his face in the fridge so he can breathe. He knows Virus usually takes showers at night, knows he will still smell like him, still smell faintly of sex, all day. It's unlikely he'll notice, because by the time he wakes up sufficiently to question it he'll be doused in cologne. Besides, their apartment isn't particularly large. They share the space. They sleep in one another's beds now and then, sleep on the same couch during their naps. It's only expected they will smell like one another from time to time.

Virus says nothing about it that day though. Not that day or the next or the next.

But he still waits. He waits another two weeks before trying again.

The second time, he fucks him from behind, massages his hips when it's over to rub away the fingerprints before they can form into bruises. He strokes his face and nuzzles him and gently bites his lips. _Don't leave behind any marks_. He kisses his shoulders, his throat, and jerks him off until he comes in his sleep. The noise he makes in climax is satisfying, enough to carry Trip through another orgasm as he lies beside Virus and basks in the memory.

-

"I like this, actually."

He doesn't trust himself to say any words, so he only makes a sound. "Hm?"

"I told Toue I wanted you to keep the collar on but he refused. I suggested microchipping you next. He didn't seem very pleased about that either."

"Microchip? Like people do a dog?" _He wanted to own you. Always know where you are. Even_ after all these years he is unsure of how Virus perceives him, of what he wants from him.

"Don't pretend you don't act like one." He's almost purring as he cards his fingers through the younger man's hair, catches a stray lock and trims it. The first haircut Trip's had since he left the institute. Neither are eager to let anyone else touch them now that they have the choice. "I was concerned about you wandering away. Not showing up to work when you should have. That's all."

Trip rubs his chin. "Huh. Is that all?"

"Yes. What else?" He snaps the scissors twice more before leaning back. "All set. You're not so shaggy anymore, but your roots are already showing a little. I think we should keep it this way. Or I can recode the Allmate chips a little so we can get our own back but keep this...benefit."

He can feel his palms sweating. Nervous. Why can't he just relax? He can't help but feel like Virus is trying to corner him. _He has to know. How can he not know? The drugs erase the pain, encourage forgetfulness upon waking. I prepare him as best I can. But still...he should be sore in the mornings. There's no way he wouldn't notice that, wouldn't suspect something was off. He isn't enough of a slut to not even question it, is he?_ He wonders if he is a slut. Acts like a little bitch in bed. _His body reacts to everything well enough... if he's really that loose then what difference does it even make? He can't even be mad if-_

"Hey."

Virus' voice snaps him back to reality.

"You've been even more of a spaceshot than usual lately. Did part of your brain fry during the Allmate redirection or what?"

"Probably." Because his brain doesn't always work properly and there's no point in questioning it anymore.

Virus is staring at him strangely now, leaning over his shoulder and breathing against his neck. _Too close, too close._ Trip remembers the sounds he made last night, the smell of his sweat and the taste of his come and the softness of his skin, and he jumps up, shakes his head and shrugs the towel off. _Act normal, act normal. Because if he doesn't suspect already, he will soon. He has to. And he'll have his revenge._

The thought makes Trip's mouth run dry and sucks the oxygen from the air around him.

-

But the paranoia, the uncertainty, isn't enough to stop him. He can't stop, not now that he's gotten a taste of it, of him, and every night he drugs him, he grows more and more daring. He begins ordering toys, experimenting with aphrodisiacs mixed with the sedatives, trying positions he'd only ever seen in porn. There's only so much he can do with an unconscious and unresponsive partner.

Things go badly the seventh time Trip fucks him.

He whimpers. He whimpers as he always does and then suddenly he's gasping, choking, shuddering. "Trip."

"Oh god, you're... I'm..." He can't breathe and he feels his erection flagging. There's nothing he can say to this. _You're awake. You're awake and I'm on top of you and inside you and there’s no way I can even begin to explain this._

"Shh." These is only a moment's hesitation before he whispers, "Don't stop."

"But..."

"You're already..." he takes a deep, trembling breath, but his eyes are accusatory, cold, enraged. "Inside."

There's nothing Trip can say to that, so he obeys. It's the easiest way to handle Virus. _Shut up and put your head down and be obedient, be a good dog. Even if you're raping him, just do what he says._ He feels hotter than usual inside, an uncomfortable heat now; he can’t get his arousal back but he struggles to thrust into him regardless.

Virus is awake, but he's slipping in and out of consciousness, confused, in pain. And afraid. Very afraid. Because it's dawning on him now, Trip knows, that slow burning of recognition. _He knows what's been happening. He's realizing now that he's been fucked, raped again and again. And his room-mate, his work partner, the one he's trusted the most in the world._

And now Trip, too, is afraid, because he doesn't know how this might change things _. He knows I've been fucking him, drugging him. I've been found out. I've been found out in the worst way possible and I can’t..._

It makes him angry. Before he realizes it, before he can see through the haze and the rage, he has Virus by the wrists, pinned down against the mattress as he snaps his hips and grinds down into him harder, harder, _harder_. Might as well make this time worth it because it will probably be the last time. Might as well make it as violent as he can. He snaps his hips back and grinds down into him, remembering his fantasy in the closet. _Fast, then slow, fast again. Keep him off balance. Don’t let him even breathe. Make him sob._

But the reaction is unexpected as Virus laughs, struggles to meet his thrusts as best he can through the haze of drugs and whimpers out a command. "Come in me."

Trip freezes. _He can't really be saying that_. "What?"

"Come in me. This time. Have to." He's gasping in between words, but his irritation and impatience are clear.

He's scared again, the fear seeping into his veins, this time not killing his arousal but dulling the fire in him. This vicious back and forth that he wishes he were in charge of. _I'm not the one being raped. It's not me._ But he can imagine it, imagine what it would be like for Virus to push him down, slip a needle into the crook of his neck and depress the plunger. Drug him in a more hostile and intimate manner than Trip did him. Because his drug of preference is morphine. Leave Trip incapacitated, confused, immobile, leaden-limbed and disoriented, dulled to the pain…

That thought is all he needs. The unexpectedness of it, the excitement; it makes him hard and desperate all over again, and within seconds he's obeying Virus' command. He closes his eyes as tightly as he can when he climaxes, envisioning Virus on him, over him, whispering in his ears and clawing his way inside of him.

And then it's over.

Virus doesn't give him a moment to recover. He's already kicking him, pulling his hair and hissing, "Get off."

It takes Trip a moment to find the words, to comprehend that the Virus here, now, in bed with him, is not the Virus he was just thinking about. "You didn't come."

"Never stopped you before? I don't want to. Get off." His voice is tight, disgusted, angry, and the fear it brings out of Trip makes him obey.

Virus rolls away from him almost immediately, stares at the wall. "How many times?"

He swallows. "Seven."

"Don't do it again."

"Okay," he says immediately. He wants to point out that Virus is still hard, that he’s even dripping precome, but he doesn't. Instead he wonders what it would be like to blow him, what that dick would taste like, feel like against the roof of his mouth and the back of his throat. He wants to own every centimeter of Virus. _Why hadn’t I tried it before? Because you always thought you could just try again tomorrow. You never thought about it ending, you fool._ He’s irritated with himself.

"Get me a cigarette."

Trip obeys, just as he's been doing for the last ten minutes. He doesn't know what else to do, doesn't know how to handle the twinge of heat he feels when their fingers brush. He watches Virus sit up slowly, grimace as he leans back against the pillows. "I was wondering what was going on. You were acting so weird. Nervous. I could see it every time I checked your biostats."

"You're not mad?"

"Of course I'm mad. You're an animal." He spreads his legs, drops his free hand between his thighs, and moans softly. "It feels gross."

"You're the one who told me to come inside you."

"Mmm," he licks his fingers, and somehow Trip has to avert his eyes. The image of Virus tasting him is too much. "You used my drugs, didn't you? I'd noticed my supply was off, but I would never imagine that you'd do this with them. What'd you use?"

Trip tells him.

"Huh," he looks amused for the first time all night, one corner of his mouth curling upwards. "I can't say I underestimated you but that is impressive."

 _Impressive. He can't be that angry then. He's already getting over it._ He feels as if he'd been holding his breath for the last eleven minutes and he's only begun to find air again.

And then Virus is leaning towards him, pressing a finger against his lips as he hushes him. "Don't get excited. Remember what I said about no repercussions?"

"Yes." The air is gone as suddenly as it'd appeared, leaving him drowning. He can't meet his eyes, can't even look at him. That _fear_.

The next words are a ghost in his ear. "You're still." And then he’s grabbing him, fingers curling in his hair as he shoves him down roughly, presses his face to his groin and bucks his hips up in the same motion. “Inexperienced.”


End file.
